


Home is Where the Heart isn't

by amongthedrowned (Merely_Specters)



Series: The Injustice of Undeath [2]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Bad Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Bad Parenting, Blood and Gore, Canon Death, Child Death, Dadza, Gen, Gun Violence, Hurt No Comfort, I wanted to remedy the lack of stories with Phil as a main character, Phil Watson-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Sleepy Bois Inc Angst, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Tragedy, but also philza is morally gray, but he still does try, he's trying guys he really is but he isn't really succeeding, mr philza minecraft commits war crimes, very very minor but it is there, when I say death I mean death fellas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:54:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28788309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merely_Specters/pseuds/amongthedrowned
Summary: Phil has travelled on his own for too long—out of the loop, the only thing he knows is that his sons are holed up in L’Manberg. Were these peaceful times, that would have been enough. However, with war raging, Phil’s ignorance has a deadly cost.Or; Phil travels to find his family, but by the time he gets there, it may already be too late.
Relationships: Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson
Series: The Injustice of Undeath [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2086761
Comments: 15
Kudos: 108





	1. Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI! This story can technically be read as a stand-alone, but you'll have more context if you read [Home is Where the House is](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28487883). It's a part of my zombie apocalypse AU—if you want more info, I've got a whole [masterpost](https://amongthedrowned.tumblr.com/post/636607596831391745/the-injustice-of-undeath-masterpost).
> 
> Just to be super clear, this story is about the _characters_ and not the people.
> 
> Fair warning: because this is a zombie apocalypse AU, I go fairly gory. There isn't cursing, but there will be guns, gore, and death. Please be warned, and check the tags for anything you want to avoid!

The world was cruel. It was a truth Phil had known from the beginning; he’d been taught by years of living. The apocalypse was just another lesson.

He'd left his hermitage and entered a new, harsher world, determined to track down his sons. However, that task proved difficult.

Phil _knew_ the direction of L’Manberg, sure, but the road was unsecured. The worn asphalt was flanked by trees, tall pines that did nothing to deter the roaming zombies. The weeds that halted Phil in his tracks did nothing to stop them—they were more willing to break their ankles and crawl than to stop chasing their prey.

Phil learned quickly when to hide and when to bare his bat and fight. As the weeks went on, Phil, perturbed, realized he preferred the latter. Violence was clean. Effective. Even if he went to bed with bloody hands, he knew without a doubt that he would be safe in the morning.

At first, Phil left the corpses in peace, but the longer he travelled, the more supplies he needed. He soon found himself pilfering items from the bodies, in the process upgrading from a bat to a machete. It was more efficient that way: he could swipe and slice a head off in a couple of hits instead of bludgeoning the skull until it broke. _It was more efficient_ , he told himself at night, when those copses looked up at him with pale eyes.

Phil left behind the more delicate weaponry, the bows slung around the shoulders of long-dead travelers. _Too elegant_ , he reasoned. _Not enough force to accomplish what’s necessary._

Phil’s only comfort was that he didn’t need to worry about the living: no survivors crossed his path. The longer he travelled, the more aware he became of their absence. He’d seen no one on the main roads—for all Phil knew, he was the only person left in the world.

 _But that’s impossible_ , Phil reasoned. _Surely L’Manberg is safe._

_Surely._

▢

Phil vomited the first time he saw a zombie child.

The kid waddled toward him on short, stumpy legs, and its arms reached upward, almost as if he wanted a ride aboard his shoulders. Phil used to do that to Wilbur, once upon a time. He used to hoist Wilbur up and give him a bird's eye view; sometimes, he’d even grab Wil's ankles and spin, leaving them both dizzy but giddy. This zombie wasn’t Wil.

Phil almost let the child go. Almost. But it would decay slowly, out in the woods. Phil couldn’t let an innocent child end like that.

That day, he stopped to build a grave.

▢

__Crows lingered on treetops above, watching his progress with attentive eyes. Phil would talk to them about anything and everything. Sometimes, when he laughed, they cawed with him.

Halfway through his journey, Phil started to get dreams.

_He dreamed of breaching void-like walls, getting through L'Manberg's gates, to find a ghost town. He dreamed of finding masks strewn on the grass, faces torn off with them. He dreamed of finding a cracked Mellohi disc on the ground._

_Finding his sons too late._

_Tommy crawling across the ground toward him, snarling. Techno swiping at him, his mouth agape, the rot taking his face. Wilbur reaching for him, his torso bloodied, a gaping wound in his chest._

_They screamed, somehow remembering his name._

_He stabbed them like the rest._

__Phil always awoke gasping for breath.

“They weren’t themselves anymore,” he reasoned to the crows, “anymore than I would be if I died.” The birds stared in reply. Phil nodded to himself. “If I were ever turned, I’d want them to put me out of my misery.”

Even so, Phil couldn’t help but picture his sons’ faces on the zombies he came across.

He killed them anyways.

▢

Days passed, then weeks. Phil inched closer, and closer, until finally—he could see the walls just above the horizon.

He whooped with laughter, and the birds around him scattered.

The first sign of life came in the form of a figure on the roads. Phil ducked behind a bush when he spotted him in the distance, waiting to ambush the lone zombie. To his surprise, this wasn’t a zombie, but a man: his face, hidden behind a white mask.

Phil slowly emerged from his hiding place. “Hello!”

The man startled, his head whipping toward Phil. “Where’ve you come from?”

Phil gestured widely behind him. “Not important. Are you alone?”

The man shook his head. “I’m holed up further east in Essempy.”

Phil sucked in a breath. “That’s where I’m headed. I’m looking for my sons.”

“Oh? What are their names?”

“Tommy and Wilbur.”

Suddenly, the man laughed. “ _Those_ are your kids.”

“You know them.”

“Know them? They’re trying to blow up L’Manberg.”

The world froze for a moment. Phil felt the chill in the air: a snow was coming.

“They’re what?”

The man leaned forward. “They’re taking back the neighborhood today. When they do, Wilbur’s going to blow it sky high.”

Phil couldn’t decipher the man’s facial expression: the entirety of his face hid behind the porcelain mask. In the morning light, it shone white. “Who are you?”

“Essempy is further east,” the man replied. “It’ll take you a while to get there on foot, less if you run.” He tilted his head, and the smile almost seemed to widen. “The battle is in an hour.”

Phil unsheathed his machete. “Who are you?” Phil demanded.

“No time for questions if you want to make it in time.”

Phil swore under his breath, looking back and forth from the man to the road and back again.

He finally broke into a run toward the walls.

Behind him, Dream stood still, watching as Phil grew distant. “You better be careful,” he yelled. “There’s a traitor in their midst.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Next two chapters should be coming out soon! Next, unfortunately, we get to see Phil and Wilbur's reunion.


	2. Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil makes it to L'Manberg and finds Wilbur.

The crows kept cawing.

Phil didn’t know why they were still following him, but, to be honest, he didn’t care. He couldn't waste precious energy questioning—getting to the wall was much more important than the flock. Instead, he focused on each footstep, the rhythmic beat of his feet hitting the ground, one after the other.

The zombies that faced him along the way didn’t stand a chance. He swiped for their head, and they were gone, not even breaking Phil’s rhythm.

The walls grew closer.

Closer.

Almost in an instant, they towered above him.

Half of the walls were well-built, with dilapidated cobble forming their base. Scraps formed the upper limits; bed frames and desks were stacked alongside splintered doors and shattered window frames.

A horde stood grouped around what Phil guessed was the main gate. _How were there so many? Somebody must have put them there._

_No time for questions_ , Phil reminded himself. Well, he couldn't go through _there._ He traveled along the backside of the walls, trying to find another way in. No luck. Phil circled. _This can’t be it. I can’t fail, not after all this time._

_There_. A break in the wall big enough for a person to fit through. It laid several feet above ground level. Phil jumped and grabbed onto the ledge, hoisting himself up and through without a second thought, barely even wondering why the opening was there in the first place.

When he emerged, Phil inhaled sharply. This was L’Manberg: he recognized it from the photos Tommy had once sent him. A crowd gathered in front of one of the houses, and there, upon the rooftop, stood Tommy.

_Tommy_. Phil almost stopped at the thought _. But then where’s Wilbur?_ Phil scanned the area, but he didn’t see him.

_Where was the bomb?_

Phil ran in a wide loop around the crowd, making it to the back of the house. He looked for something, anything. _There!_ A black wire lay concealed on the ground, running from inside the house down onto the grass. Phil followed its trail, making it to a sewer grate.

▢

Phil hit the sewer floor, and his feet splashed in the standing water.

Tunnels stretched out around him. All were dark except one: a pinprick of light gleamed at its end. Phil splashed through the water toward it, past spray painted graffiti on the walls.

He finally made it to the light, and into a room.

The concrete was mostly dry, here, if a bit moist with fresh paint. The graffiti was vibrant and omnipresent, covering the walls ceiling to floor—yet even the paint couldn’t conceal black mold collecting in the corners.

There, before him, stood Wilbur.

Wilbur faced the wall. There, Phil saw it: a button. Like a black hole, dozens of wires converged on that singular spot.

“What are you doing.”

Startled, Wilbur turned toward Phil. A smile jumped up onto Wilbur’s face. “I knew you were alive.” He laughed, stepping forward as if to embrace Phil. Phil didn’t reciprocate.

Wilbur continued, “If you could go out and wait with the others, I’m sure Tommy would love—”

“That’s a weak excuse, and you know it. Now,” Phil demanded, “what are you doing?”

Wilbur’s smile dropped. “Do you know what this does?” Wilbur asked.

“Yeah.”

“Then do you know the song? The one on the walls, the one surrounding us as we speak?”

Phil glanced to the walls. God, he hadn’t recognized Wil's handwriting before, as manic and scrambled as it was. The graffiti was all his.

“There _was_ a special place where we could go to emancipate. L’Manberg used to be, but it isn’t anymore. It hasn’t been since the election. Maybe it never really was. I mean, we’ve all been different since the world around us burned.”

“Election?” Phil shook off his confusion and tried, “No, Wil, L’Manberg’s still up there. Everybody is still here: Tommy, Tubbo, and all the people you’ve survived with. They support you. I support you.”

Wilbur laughed. “I’m starting to think that you don’t know what’s going on.”

Phil hesitated. “I may not know what happened, but I do know you.”

“No, you don’t! That’s my point! You _don’t_ know me! You haven’t known me since I lost you, and that was long before the apocalypse!” Wilbur screamed at him. His eyes were wild, flickering even as he made eye contact. “The world’s gone to hell, nobody is who they used to be.” Wilbur’s head whipped back toward the button. “Phil, I am so close to pressing this button.”

"Don't. You're going to hurt people."

"You think I care?"

Phil took a step forward, one closer to Wilbur. “You may have changed, but we survived,” Phil tried. “Isn’t that enough? Maybe this was all meant to happen, so we could start again.”

Wilbur slowed, staring at the button. “No. We weren’t meant to survive. We’re all one great big accident.”

Wilbur hesitated.

“It was never meant to be.”

He pressed the button.

Phil heard a sizzling sound. He looked back—on the way in, he hadn’t even noticed the charges on the ground, half submerged in dark waters. Phil didn’t have time to register what was happening before—

_Boom_.

The blast rocked the ground, knocking Phil and Wilbur to the floor. The ceiling above them cracked, chunks of cement falling onto the ground. Phil grabbed hold of Wilbur’s collar and yanked him back, pulling him out of the way of the rubble.

He looked up—sunlight streamed down, bathing them in warm light. Nearly the entire area had collapsed, sunken into now-damaged sewers.

_Rumble_.

The house above them creaked, and a smatter of dust fell down on them.

Wilbur shoved off Phil’s hand and stood, looking up at the ruins.

“My L’Manberg!”

“Wil, it’s all gone!”

Wilbur grinned wildly, looking at Phil back on the ground. “My unfinished symphony, forever unfinished!”

“We can still salvage this.”

“We? If _I_ can’t have this no one can, Phil!” Wilbur threw his machete onto the ground, and it clattered, a deep tone resonating from the steel. “Kill me.”

“What?”

“Phil, kill me. Murder me.”

“I came all this way,” Phil said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Kill me. Phil, kill me. They all want you to.” As Wilbur gestured up toward the crowd, Phil saw him—his son. Tommy stared down at them, eyes wide, looking from Wilbur to Phil and back again. Phil continued scanning the crowd, but he couldn’t find Techno.

Unbeknownst to Phil, from behind a gas mask, Techno stared down at his dad.

Wilbur kicked the machete across the ground and it skidded, the sheer force moving sparks to fly where the blade connected with the ground. “Kill me!”

“You’re my _son_!” Phil screamed. “No matter what you do—”

Wilbur slammed his fist into the wall, straight onto the warped, broken metal. Blood gushed into his palms. “Look, _look_ how many resources went into this, our precious resources. How much was wasted, never to return again.”

“No matter what you’ve done—” Phil faltered. He picked up the machete, if only to get it away from Wilbur—Wil’s eyes were wild.

Phil tried again, “No matter what you’ve done…” It sounded flat, even to his ears. As Phil stared into Wilbur’s eyes, he saw a shell.

Wilbur grabbed Phil’s shoulders. “Do it.”

_He's not your son._

Before he could think, Phil thrust the blade through Wilbur’s chest.

Wilbur stumbled, falling into Phil’s arms. The machete sunk even deeper into Wil’s chest. Phil froze, feeling damp clothes press against his hands.

“God, Wil, why’d you have to do it? You couldn’t just take your victory?” His breathing hitched. “You couldn’t have just waited a few more days for me to get here?”

Wilbur breathed raggedly in his arms, not replying.

“You couldn’t have just waited?”

“Techno’s got the key to the gates,” Wilbur rasped into Phil’s ear. His tone was smug. God, was he smiling? “He’s the traitor.”

“Techno’s alive?” Phil’s head snapped up, scanning the crowd above them.

“He’s about to open the gates of the barricade and let the zombies in.”

“Oh god.” Phil let go of Wilbur, dropping him to the ground. Wilbur fell with a _splash_ into a puddle, his chin colliding with the ground and splitting open.

“You better run,” Wilbur said, his cheek scraping on the textured concrete as he spoke. Blood intermingled with the water. Phil didn’t pay attention, instead looking up and around for an exit. The tunnel behind him had collapsed: he’d need to climb up the sides.

There was shouting, up on the surface: Phil heard screaming and gunfire. Had Techno already done it?

Phil was looking away even as Wilbur breathed his last.

Phil knelt down and took the machete out of Wil's body. “Don’t worry, Wil. I’ll be back.”

Then, Phil began to climb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the end, history may not repeat, but it sure rhymes.
> 
> Next up will be the aftermath, otherwise known as Phil reuniting with his sons— _all_ of them.


	3. Lonely

Phil climbed above the crater, ignoring the pain in his scraped palms. He heaved himself up onto the broken road, managing to crouch on the asphalt.

He took a brief moment to stare down at the wreckage: the entire area had collapsed inward like a sinkhole. This had been a community just an hour before. Worse yet, this had been a home. Down in the rubble, now flooded with water from the sewage system, Phil could see remnants of life: a bright tarp, countless wooden chairs, and books, all scattered without rhyme or reason. Most of what remained was charred or otherwise broken.

A zombie groaned behind him, forcing Phil out of mourning. Phil saw a ragged woman staggering toward him, but before he could draw his weapon—

 _Bang-bang-bang_. The zombie fell backward, bullet holes smattered across her face. Phil turned to see a figure standing above him, complete with a pink spray-painted gas mask. His belt was laden with weapons; his back, a compact knapsack.

“Thank you,” Phil said, smiling.

“You’re welcome,” came the gruff reply.

Phil paused. He recognized that voice. “Techno?”

Techno proffered his blood-spattered gun to Phil. “Here, you’ll need—”

Before Techno could finish, Phil wrapped him in a hug. He gripped onto the back of Techno's coat as if his touch alone could make up for the years gone by.

Techno froze, pulling away within seconds. “Phil, It’s not safe here.” As he spoke, a growl sounded from behind. In an instant, Phil grabbed Techno's gun, and Techno pulled a crossbow from his back. He nocked an arrow just in time to fire at the oncoming zombie.

"You should get somewhere secure," Techno said, moving to leave.

Phil grabbed his shoulder, stopping Techno in his tracks. "I'm more than capable of taking care of myself."

"I know." 

For a moment, the world hushed around them. _God, Techno was alive. Techno was alive. But Wilbur—_

Within moments, though, a scream echoed through the air, and the silence shattered. “Techno, why’d you do it? And why did Wilbur...”

Techno shrugged off Phil’s hand. “We can talk later.”

Techno strided toward another figure, similarly masked. The man from the roads. Techno continued right past him, running into a densely packed portion of the horde. Phil narrowed his eyes and followed, ducking to avoid gunfire.

The man met him halfway. Before Phil could say a word, he held up a hand. “I’m Dream, by the way.”

“You already know my name.”

“I do,” Dream said.

“You could have given me more information about what was happening. I barely found Wilbur in time.”

“Well, it all worked out, didn’t it?”

Phil ducked behind a broken wall as a zombie approached. He waited, then ‘rounded the side and slashed at its neck, hacking until the head came off. “You call what happened to Wilbur 'working out?'”

Phil turned back to see Dream fighting a zombie of his own. Dream finished off his zombie with a bullet to the head, blowing its brains out point-blank. Blood painted the wall before him. Dream turned back to Phil, his mask still pristine and white. “That’s not _my_ fault. You could have stopped him.” Phil scowled. Dream simply tilted his head and continued, “Better yet, you could have killed him before he wrecked the place.”

“You piece of—”

“You know I’m right.” Dream raised his hand in a mock salute. “I’ll be seeing you, soldier.”

“Go to hell.”

Dream waved, and promptly pushed a nearby zombie toward Phil. By the time Phil was done with the monster, Dream was out of sight.

Phil sighed. There was nothing left to do but fight. He headed into the horde and began swinging.

▢

Phil would occasionally pass by Tommy (w _as it Tommy? His hair was so much longer now_ ) and Tubbo, but they never spoke. Tommy avoided eye contact, instead focusing on whatever lay over Phil’s shoulder.

Phil didn’t mind. _Catching up would be hard in a fight anyways. Too many questions, not enough time._

▢

The undead were dealt with, in time. It took several hours and thousands of bullet casings, but eventually, the area was made safe from zombies.

Once the area was clear, Phil scanned his surroundings, focused on finding Techno again.

He saw Techno's telltale mask peeking over a far-off. From what Phil could tell, he was laughing among a group of survivors. Phil didn’t go up to him yet. No. For now, he was simply content to stare. It really was him, right down to the lining on his winter coat. _Tommy’s coat_ , Phil corrected himself. _The one Techno stole all those years ago._

 _Tommy._ At that thought, Phil started. _Where's Tommy? Well, normally Tommy's with his brothers. If he isn't with Techno, then he’ll be with—_

Phil had eliminated all zombies except one. In the center of L’Manberg, there was the crater, and in the bottom of that crater, there was a shape. Wilbur looked up at Phil with pale, dead eyes.

Tommy couldn’t see Wilbur like that.

Phil made his way to the crater.

“I’m back,” Phil called down to the corpse. At the noise, the zombie snarled, beginning to crawl in its direction. Phil secured his machete on his back, and then he stepped toward the edge of the crater.

“Phil, wait.” A hand pulled at his shoulder.

Phil turned to see Tommy. He was different than Phil remembered—like the rest of the survivors, Tommy had a gun at his side and a knife on his belt. His formerly white shirt was darkened by caked dirt and blood. “Phil, please don’t kill him.”

“I won’t let his memory be disrespected by that thing,” Phil said, gesturing toward the crater. “It’s a danger to the survivors.”

_There’s too much danger. No time to catch up. No time to ask Tommy how he’s been, what it’s been like out here. No time so long as that monster walks the earth._

“That was your fault, not his,” Tommy said, his voice raising. “He shouldn’t pay the price.”

Phil let out a choked laugh. “ _My_ fault?”

“You show up after months, and the first thing you do is kill Wilbur?” Tommy yelled, standing a head above Phil. He threw his hands up. “You didn't come to me. You didn’t ask for help.”

Phil had to look up to make eye contact. _He wasn’t this tall last time I saw him_. “There wasn’t any time to second guess my actions.”

“There’s never any time, never has been.”

“He asked me to kill him! Tommy, he wasn’t himself!”

“How would you have known if you weren’t here to begin with!”

“I didn’t choose that! I thought you were coming home.” Phil stopped abruptly, taking in a shuddering gasp. “Tommy, I waited,” Phil said hoarsely. “I waited for you to come home.”

“You should have come here in the first place.”

“I know that now! God, I know it, but what’s done is done. This is about your safety,” Phil said. “Whatever’s down there needs to be eliminated.”

“No.” Tommy shook his head. “Phil, I already lost Wilbur. I don't want to lose his memory, too,” Tommy pleaded.

“You won’t.”

Phil reached for his pack’s front pocket. He took out a package wrapped in newspaper and held it out to Tommy. “I brought this from home. I brought something for Wilbur, too, but I didn’t get the chance to give it to him.”

Tommy grabbed the parcel and opened it, revealing a dull CD in a plastic case. “Happy birthday!” was scrawled on its front in black sharpie. It was signed by everyone in the family: Wilbur, Techno, Tommy. They even included a scribbled paw print for the dog.

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” Phil said. “We made it for you before Techno went to college. Sorry, it’s a bit worn; I listened to it a lot while I was alone.”

Tommy put the CD in the inner pocket of his coat; then, he looked back at Phil. “Please," he said, softer. "Don’t do kill him all over again.”

"Tommy, whatever's down there is _not_ Wilbur."

A moment passed in silence. Neither dared to move.

Tommy was the first to shift: he discarded the newspaper into the crater, and it tumbled down, landing by Wilbur. Phil, emboldened, set down his supplies and began to climb down into the crater.

He could hear Tommy’s muffled curses; even so, Tommy didn’t try to stop Phil.

The climb was harder on the way back down: every other piece of rubble he planted his foot on slipped downward, tumbling down to the bottom of the crater with a clatter. At every sound, Wilbur turned as if searching for Phil in the rubble.

When he hit the bottom, Phil unsheathed his machete.

As he got closer, Phil got a look at Wilbur’s face. Already, his skin was sallow and lifeless. The bloodstain on his chest was still damp. He looked exactly like the one in Phil's nightmares.

Unlike the monster in Phil’s dreams, however, this zombie wasn’t screaming; a blank, almost peaceful look had settled upon its face. The creature reminded Phil of his son.

_Wilbur._

Phil muttered a curse.

He put away his machete, instead taking out a rope.

“Hey, mate, I’m here,” he said, back in the remains of that cursed room.

Wilbur’s head whipped around toward him. He growled, crawling toward Phil.

“That’s it, that’s it,” Phil said, climbing backward. Wilbur followed, his movements stiff as a sleepwalker. With effort, Phil managed to get Wilbur up beyond the crater up onto solid ground.

Wilbur lunged for him, but Phil sidestepped, looping a rope around his wrists and pulling them tight. He kicked Wilbur backward; as Wilbur floundered on the ground, Phil tethered the other end to the trunk of a nearby tree.

“There you go,” Phil said. Wilbur tried to move forward, but he couldn’t get far with the short rope. “You’re still in L’Manberg. Maybe you’ll get to see it rebuilt.”

Phil received no reply.

 _Not that I need one_ , he reminded himself. _Wilbur’s not there anymore._

Even so, Phil sorted through his gear, removing an unwieldy guitar case from the pile. The instrument had weighed Phil down during his journey, but he couldn’t dispose of it. Not until it was returned to its owner. Phil unclasped the case and slid the guitar within toward Wilbur.

Maybe it was the wind, but, for a moment, Phil could have sworn Wilbur rasped a quiet “thanks.”

A bird cawed beside Phil. The crows were back: he hadn’t noticed them staring down at him from atop the walls. A few had flown down and were pecking at the decapitated corpses, all the zombies laying scattered across the makeshift battlefield.

Phil brushed his blood soaked hands against his pants and picked his gear back up. He took one last look at Wilbur and then turned, making his way back toward Techno and his crowd.

_I'll be back, son._

Even as Phil left Wilbur, the murder followed, the flock of crows swirling above him in the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this fic!
> 
> The songs on the CD mentioned can be found [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5UskleM0vgReo3SehQ0kSQ?si=qFBqAN5eTvGhIrakl5-ifQ). I may or may not have made the entire playlist.
> 
> I have a sequel fic coming up after this focusing on Techno and Phil: you can check out the first chapter [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29210676/chapters/71722302). As for me and the AU, you can find me on tumblr @amongthedrowned. I have a [masterpost of information about the AU](https://amongthedrowned.tumblr.com/post/636607596831391745/the-injustice-of-undeath-masterpost) if you want more content!


End file.
